


SEQUEL TO DEVRA'S "A FRIENDLY GAME"

by GSister



Category: Numb3rs
Genre: Family Feels, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-04
Updated: 2017-06-04
Packaged: 2018-11-09 00:07:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11092767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GSister/pseuds/GSister
Summary: Comment fic from Devra's "A Friendly Game" that turned into a small sequel / epilogue.





	SEQUEL TO DEVRA'S "A FRIENDLY GAME"

**Author's Note:**

  * For [devra](https://archiveofourown.org/users/devra/gifts).
  * Inspired by [A Friendly Game](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/296049) by Devra. 



> DISCLAIMER: These Characters do not belong to me (but if they did, I'D share...) That said, this story was written purely for self entertainment and no money is being made, has changed hands, or has been paid out for the contents therein. 
> 
> The Author wishes to thank the Ladies at Numb3rCrunching for their encouragement and feedback. Special thanks to my best friend, who is not on this list (yet... heh heh heh...) I've gotten her into Numb3rs, so it's only a matter of time... It's totally her fault that I got into fan fiction in the first place. Without her encouragement, constructive criticism, and long talks on characterization, I might still be writing pathetically depressing purple poetry, and what prose I did write, would NEVER be finished...  
> Extra special thanks go to Devra, who not only wrote the original that inspired this, but beta'ed this, and insisted that I post it.  
> AUTHOR'S NOTE: If you haven't read Devra's "A Friendly Game" then this will make little sense. Go read that first, then come back. (http://angstandwhump.popullus.net/numdevgame.html)  
> ~Constructive Criticism will be graciously accepted  
> ~Flames will be used to toast marshmallows

Alan Eppes stood up from the overstuffed living room chair he had been sitting in when he heard the car pull into the driveway and stop. When no other sounds carried to him, he walked over to the door that stood sentinel between the open hallway that separated the living room from the dining room, and opened it. He stood in the doorway, looking out into the driveway at the SUV that hadn't been there ten minutes ago. Don's SUV that his two sons were making no move to get out of.  


Alan shook his head. When Don had called four hours ago from the hospital, Alan had been understandably frantic. After all, the boys were supposed to be on their way home for dinner. A call from the emergency room conjured up images of car accidents, or, given Don's job with the FBI, and the fact that Charlie had been consulting with him for more than a year, images of crime scenes gone wrong, bad guys, and bullets. Not basketball games and off-course elbows.  
  
Alan smiled at the memory. Don had sounded like a little boy calling his father to tell him that he'd be late for curfew, because he ran out of gas, and could his father please come down to the police station to pick him up, and bring the gas can so they can get the car on the way home? And in the background, he could hear Donny fussing at Charlie, telling him to "stop touching", and "just hold that on there like the nurse said, I'll help you with the paper work in a minute."  
  
Lucky for the boys, dinner had just finished cooking when Alan had received the phone call, and he had wrapped it up and put it all away. They could re-heat it like leftovers, and it wouldn't be dried out. None of the Eppes men liked dried out pot roast. Not just because of the taste. No, dried out pot roast was usually an indication of tension in the Eppes household. Arguments that had led to one parent storming out, and the other 'holding dinner', and the inevitable dried out food. Alan thanked his lucky stars that they had made it through that period, marriage intact. It was rough going for a few years, tough on the boys, well, on Don, mostly. Charlie was oblivious to most of it. He was aware of the tension when it happened, but he was young enough that he never put all the instances together. Not like Donny. Donny had been older, but he was also a bit more astute at picking up emotional atmosphere than his brother. Or perhaps Charlie was just usually lost in the math in his head more in those years.  
  
Alan watched as Don and Charlie finally exited Don's SUV and headed toward the house. He opened the door for them, and stood aside far enough for them to enter.  
  
"Hi, Dad," Don greeted softly.  
  
"Hi, Dad," Charlie echoed, meeting his eyes only briefly before returning his gaze to the floor.  
  
Alan waited until they were inside in the light before gently grasping Charlie's chin and levering it up, giving him a better view of his youngest son's battle scars. "How many stitches?" he demanded.  
  
"Ten," Don answered, knowing that to obfuscate now would be of little use and be used against him later.  
  
Alan whistled lightly. "Gonna be some shiner, son." He tilted Charlie's head this way and that, checking the bruising from all angles. "Anything broken?"  
  
"They took x-rays at the hospital, they didn't find anything," Don volunteered.  
  
"I was speaking to your brother," Alan reprimanded, in his 'we'll get to your part in a minute, young man' tone.  
  
Don hung his head. Man oh man oh man. He was in for it now. Here he was, closer to forty than to thirty, an FBI agent who had once run his own agency, and he was about to be grounded by his old man.  
  
"They said nothing was broken," Charlie rasped out, as his father, still cupping his chin in his hand, ran a gently thumb over his bruised cheek, carefully circumventing the bandage that protected the stitches.  
  
"How's your vision? Did they check that?" Alan looked closer at the bruising surrounding his son's eye. The bruise was placed just to the side enough that the swelling hadn't closed the eye, but the blow had caught the ridge of the cheek.  
  
"Yeah, I'm fine."  
  
"You sure?" Alan stroked the bruise carefully one more time, before letting his hand drop.  
  
"Yeah," Charlie nodded, stopping after the second shake of his head when the pain caught up.  
  
"Good." Alan waited a beat, and took a breath. "Then what were you two thinking?" he exclaimed. He raised his hands in supplication, only to drop them onto his head, and clutch at his hair for a moment. "Do you have any idea what went through my mind when you called from the ER? What got into you boys tonight?"  
  
"Dad, it was just a quick pick up game of basketball with the guys from work. Charlie called, said his last class was cancelled, and since I was picking him up anyway... "  
  
"Yeah, we had some kind of cleaning accident in one of the labs at CalSci, they were evacuating the whole wing, so all the classes were cancelled. We had more than an hour before dinner, and Don was supposed to play these guys from work, and needed another player, and you know I'm good..."  
  
"It was an accident, Dad. Charlie got in the way of one of the guy's elbows..."  
  
"I got in the way of... Look, I had him covered so you could--"  
  
"He came down and his elbow landed on your eye. How is that having him covered?"  
  
"Well, how would you know? David was blocking your line of sight. I had everything under control until--"  
  
"All right, all right, that's enough, that's enough. Now, before the roast gets any drier, let's eat," Alan refereed. He didn't miss the grimaces on his sons' faces at the thoughts of dried out roast. He ushered the boys to the table that was already set and waiting, before bringing out one dish at a time, from the refrigerator to the microwave to the table. As the potatoes were heating, he brought a carafe of gravy to the table. As the carrots were warming, he brought out the rolls, and as the roast had its turn in the microwave, he brought out tall glasses of iced tea. When all the food was on the table, and plates were filled, he started the meal as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.  
  
Don took a tentative bite of his pot roast, ready to drown it in more gravy if necessary. "Hey, this is pretty good," he was surprised into exclaiming.  
  
"Why sound so surprised? You've always loved my pot roast," Alan frowned, hiding his smile. He knew his sons expected the meat to taste more like shoe leather.  
  
Charlie tentatively took a bite of his meal, emboldened by his brother's remark, but not willing to completely trust him. After all, this was the brother who had once convinced him to eat a worm, on a roll with mustard and ketchup; and he would have if their mother hadn't found out about it in time to stop him. Charlie's eyebrows rose. Don was right. If he didn't know better, he'd have thought that the meal had just finished cooking. "It's good, Dad, thanks."  
  
Alan nodded in acknowledgment. "After dinner, I want you to put some ice on that eye," he ordered.  
  
Charlie nodded. It was hurting a lot.  
  
"The doctor gave him some pills to take for pain, too," Don put in.  
  
Charlie gave him a mini glare, but didn't comment. Something told him he just might want one of those pills after dinner.  
  
~1234567890~  
  
Professor Larry Fleinhardt gave a quick rap of his knuckles on the open door as he entered the office of his colleague, Professor Charles Eppes. Charles wasn't only a colleague; Larry had once had the privilege of being a mentor to the youngest professor in CalSci's history, and now he was privileged to call him a friend. Charles still occasionally came to him for advice when his equations needed to factor in human nature. It was only fair, in Larry's mind, since the older theoretical physicist would go to Charlie for the math equations to bear out his super gravitational theories.  
  
Charlie's head was bent over the papers he was correcting at his desk. Not unusual, Larry thought, Charlie's mind had the ability to focus to a degree that completely blocked out the outside world. That was the real reason he was assigned a TA. It wasn't that he had so much research that he couldn't manage his teaching schedule, or that he couldn't keep up with all the grading. It was simply that Charlie would focus on a task to the exclusion of all else, and sometimes, nothing short of the fire alarm could shake his concentration. And to be on the safe side, if the fire alarm went off, someone always made sure that Charlie heard and heeded it...  
  
Larry walked closer to the cluttered desk, taking in the upright hand that held rubber bands and paperclips in its palm like a patiently waiting Thing from the Adams' Family sitting next to the model plane that really flew by winding up the propeller attached by a rubber band. Stacks of books balanced precariously over the edge of one corner, while piles of folders and loose papers dominated the opposite corner. "Charles? Charles, did you see the notice about the change in room assignments?" he asked, when he was close enough to attract the younger man's attention without yelling.  
  
Charlie brought his head up when he heard Larry's voice. "What?" he asked, not comprehending the question.  
  
"Charles!?" Larry's voice rose half an octave. "What happened? Are you alright? What happened?"  
  
Charlie smiled at the concern radiating off his friend. He stood up, pushing his chair back. He came around the desk to grip Larry's elbow for a moment. "I'm fine, Larry, thanks. Just a little accident on the basketball court yesterday with Don. I'm okay."  
  
"Did Don...?" Larry's eyebrows tried to meet his hairline.  
  
"No, no, it wasn't Don; it was one of the other agents. Don and I were playing against David and another agent, another, very tall agent," he stressed, "and I tried to block him, we got a little tangled up, and I ended up stopping his elbow with my face. But I'm okay."  
  
Larry opened his mouth to protest some more.  
  
Charlie quickly jumped in, "Don took me to the ER just to be sure. I needed a few stitches, but other than that, everything is fine."  
  
"You're sure?"  
  
"I'm sure. Thanks for caring, Larry. But I really am fine."  
  
"Well, alright. If you're certain..." Larry let his gaze travel over his younger colleague for a long moment, reassuring himself that the brilliant bruising around Charlie's eye was the only injury. "In that case, did you see the announcement about the new room assignments..."  
  
The End

**Author's Note:**

> Moved here from the now defunct Cal Sci Library site. Many thanks to Wolfpup for hosting the stories there are long as she did.


End file.
